


Have You Ever Seen a Burn Victim

by gardakuka



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blasphemious Sex, Character Death - Freeform, Despair, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, I Am Sorry, It Wasn't Very Effective, Not For Sansa, Sansa Used Seduction, Unrealistic Sex, Unrealistic Way of Events, horny on main, no sense, questionable decisions, unrealistic plot, what the fuck is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22290277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardakuka/pseuds/gardakuka
Summary: Alayne Stone is gone.And there's no way Sansa Stark will allow someone to shape her future. Or.Or,A fucked up story of how Petyr's wish tomarry Sansa Starkwed his bastard-born daughter to Harry Hardyng as soon as possible led to an unexpected and questionable outcome.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I SINCERELY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IS THIS FUCKERY  
> I suspect that the work got my brains and here I am, writing something like this :')
> 
> This story has an unrealistic plot, some unrealistic decisions of the characters, as well as some unrealistic and blasphemious sex.  
> Some confidential documents say that I wrote it just because I wanted to write an unrealistic sex in this setting, but don't trust them, okay.
> 
> I will always put an underage tag for all my works which are not based in the modern setting, but you're free to imagine any age for Sansa.
> 
> *an obligatory language warning*
> 
> Once again, I am sorry.
> 
> And I know it wasn't a smart idea to write something full of angst, drama, and despair AND USE THE QUOTE FROM 'THE OFFICE' AS THE TITLE, but it will make sense soon.  
> 3 chapters, will be updated really quickly - I've just decided to split it into parts, so it won't look like a long fuckery (it _is_ a fuckery though)

“Sweetling,” Petyr smiles, and his lips reminds Alayne of two ugly worms. “It’s all sorted now. You will wed Harry by the end of this week.”

They just had their breakfast and walk to the direction of the library. Alayne feels her stomach to twist most unpleasantly.

“Isn’t it too early, father?” she pouts her lips.

“I think it’s exactly the right time for a wedding, sweetling,” Petyr keeps on smiling. His hand starts to caress Alayne’s waist and she tries so hard to hide her disgusted shiver. “Harry is quite eager to join you in marriage. And not only him, everyone else looks forward to your wedding. He is the winner of our tourney, and you’re my sweet daughter, people will love your union.”

“But won’t it be too much for a mere bastard?” Alayne asks, her stomach swirls into a tight knot.

“Probably,” Petyr agrees. “But it will be exactly what Sansa Stark deserves, right?”

Sansa Stark doesn’t deserve to be married to a stupid lordling who cannot keep his pants on, Alayne is sure of it. She deserves to be married to someone who could protect her from the danger. She deserves a husband, who will cherish her, love her as she is, who will listen only to her songs. She deserves someone else, but in the end she will be wed to a Harry Hardyng. That what Petyr wants for her.

“You said there’s no way Sansa Stark can be wed before the annulment of her previous marriage,” Alayne tries to argue.

“I know,” Petyr agrees, stroking his little beard. His other hand moves lower and starts to stroke Alayne’s arsecheeks. “But don’t worry too much about it, sweetling. There will be a holy man coming from the isle, where they spend their time in prayers and serve the Seven fanatically. He is old and wise, and I am sure he will help us to serve your little issue. As well as the wedding.”

“ _Oh_ ,” that’s all what Alayne says. She allows Petyr to walk her to the library, and then he leaves, putting his ugly lips on hers before going. At least he doesn’t try to touch them with his tongue, which makes Alayne happy.

Petyr goes away, and Alayne stays in the library for hours. She doesn’t want to see anyone, her head full of the upcoming wedding. Somewhere deep inside she wants to run away, she wants to scream, she wants to steal a mule and go to Eyrie, where she could easily walk through the Moon Door. But that’s not what Alayne Stone would do.

Alayne Stone needs to follow her father’s wishes. She is a bastard, after all. This means she has nothing to lose, but at the same time, her hands are tied up.

She sits in the library and goes outside only when her stomach starts asking for some food. She meets her father in the dining room, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Sweetling,” he greats Alayne. “The holy manI told you about will be here only for your wedding day.”

“Oh?” Alayne asks, trying not to sound confused.

“Something happened on their isle, which didn’t allow him to come to us earlier,” Petyr sighs. “But at least he sent us another brother of faith from their, um, community to help us with all the preparations for the wedding.”

“But what about my,” _Sansa_ takes a deep breath and whispers. “My maidenhead? If the holy brother will come only for my wedding, he won’t have enough time to confirm my marriage with Tyrion wasn’t consummated.”

“That’s a problem,” Petyr nods. “But don’t worry, sweetling, I will find a solution. Do you trust me?”

“I do,” Alayne answers. She is a bastard-born girl again, and she listens to her father.

“Good,” Petyr smiles. “Now eat your dinner, I need to drop out and sort some things.”

He kisses her again, which isn’t a good idea. His breath smells of mint and Alayne feels herself dirty. She isn’t sure how she will eat her food and not throw up, it’s always quite difficult for her to forget about the mint on her lips.

She eats her meal for almost an hour, and when she is done, Alayne wants to hide somewhere once again. She knows that Sweetrobin will look for her, and her father will require her presence for the afternoon tea, but she needs this escape. She decides to lock herself in her bedroom, but Petyr appears out of nowhere when she is almost there.

“It’s all done now, sweetling,” he grabs her hand, tugging Alayne into an almost embrace. “Your maidenhead will be accessed and we will send a letter to the holy man, and then it will be his job to deal with the rest. Which means that by the time of your wedding day the virtue of Sansa Stark will be finally restored.”

“Thank you, father,” Alayne bows her head and courtesies. She doesn’t want to show Petyr her true feelings, so she simply moved her eyes to the ground. She looks like an obedient and dutiful daughter now.

“Come with me,” Petyr offers her his hand, standing next to her almost like her betrothed on the wedding day. “Let’s just simply finish with this business and you can have a free evening for yourself.”

“That’s so nice of you, father,” Alayne beams. “I have already promised Randa I will stay with her this evening.”

“Good,” Petyr nods. “You need to enjoy all these free nights you have before your wedding, my dear Alayne. Then you will be a woman wedded, so no more foolish afternoons with your friends.”

They walk to the small sept, and Petyr tells her about the letter he received from the holy man everyone calls the Elder Brother. Alayne wasn’t aware there was such a place nearby, where people are spending their time in prayers and work under the sight of the Seven. Petyr tells her about the vow of silence, which restricts the brothers of faith from talking, and that’s why their guest won’t even greet his pretty daughter. What a shame, Petyr adds, caressing her hand, he is sure everyone should greet sweet Alayne and praise her beauty, even the people who vowed to keep their mouths shut. Alayne laughs at his remark, but she doesn’t feel confident at all.

She doesn’t like Petyr’s caresses. And she doesn’t want a total stranger to access her maidenhead. Petyr told her that the silent brother agreed to help them with their _little issue_ , and _Sansa_ \- Alayne flinches just from the thought some old man will have to touch her _there_. She knows it is required, and without this little inspection Sansa Stark will have to remain a member of the Lannister family, which isn’t acceptable for her at all, but she still flinches.

“You’re shivering,” Petyr chuckles and tried to calm her down with a kiss. “Don’t worry, sweetling, the holy brother won’t hurt you. After all, we need to prove _no one_ hurt you before, right?”

“Right,” Alayne answers in a blank tone.

“You won’t even see his face, if that’s what you are worried about,” Petyr continues, and so does the movement of his thumb on Alayne’s hand. “The brothers of Quiet Isle are covering their faces and wear robes, which are hiding their bodies from the sight of the others. He won’t talk to you too, so you won’t hear any crude comment a fussy septa would make.”

“That’s good to know,” Alayne answers. The knot inside her stomach becomes bigger and she thinks she can feel the fear.

When they are next to the sept, Petyr turns to the right and walks her to a small cabin next to it. Alayne knows it’s the house where a Septon should live, but it was always empty, just like in Eyrie. Now there was a weak light coming from the window, the cabin offered for a silent brother so he could have his place to stay until his departure after the wedding.

When they are inside, Alayne flinches again, and Petyr repeats his attempt to calm her down with his disgusting caresses.

“She is a little bit nervous,” he chuckles. The silent brother doesn’t share his mood.

It is really difficult to say what he is thinking about anyway. He wears a dark robe and a hood on his head, and there’s a fabric covering his face almost completely. It had to be something to do with his vow of silence, Alayne thinks. If they were outside, maybe she could see the other half of his face, or at least his eyes, but inside the tiny cabin, she sees nothing. As if he lacks a face completely.

“I will wait outside,” Petyr squeezes Alayne’s hand and leaves.

She is left on her own with a man she never met before, and just in some minutes she will be lying on a small bed, her skirts up, her lower body exposed for this man. She has nothing to fear about, Alayne reminds herself. This man is just a brother of faith, he can’t do anything bad to her. He is not Petyr. He is not Harry. He is not Marillion. He is not Joffrey. He is not any man from her past who tried to force himself on her. It will be okay.

Alayne doesn’t say a word, she just walks in the direction of the bed, watching the silent brother out of the corner of her eye. He doesn’t look like an old man, she notes, doesn’t even look like a _holy man_. He is tall, his shoulders broad, and when he walks at the direction of the small window he limps. He is more built to be a soldier, a warrior, but somehow he became a brother of faith. Petyr told her he was a gravedigger, and Sansa can see it on his hands. They are huge and covered with tiny scars and blisters. They remind her of the hands of _another man_ , but Alayne knows it’s just her imagination.

_Sansa_ knows it’s just her imagination.

The silent brother curtains off the window, as if he suspects someone to spy on them. When he turns around and sees Alayne standing next to the bed, he turns away, giving her privacy. She doesn’t know if there’s any point for him to do so, he will see her half-naked very soon anyway, but she feels that the disturbing knot in her stomach became smaller. Maybe Petyr was right, and the brother of faith, who vowed not to touch any woman for his pleasure, will treat her much better than any septa.

Alayne sits on the bed and puts her skirts up. Of course, she can take them off, but she wants to be comfortable enough to come through this humiliation. It is cold outside now, so she wears her tights every day, so she quickly rolls them down, the smallclothes to follow. She takes everything off, unlike the skirts they could bother the brother of faith to carry out his duty. She doesn’t feel comfortable at all, and when Alayne lies down, her legs and mound exposed, she quickly turns to head to the side, so she could face the wooden wall. She doesn’t want to look at the man next to her.

_Sansa_ was forced to be exposed in front of men before. When Joffrey wanted her to be stripped in the eyes of the whole court. When she was married off to Tyrion and had to get ready for her wedding night. And now she is going through it again, but this time another man won’t just simply look at her. And _Sansa_ is afraid

Alayne clears her throat, hoping it is enough to attract the attention of the silent brother. She doesn’t want to talk to him, she feels too ashamed for it.

She hears the loud steps towards the bed and squeezes her eyes shut. The wooden wall is not giving her protection anymore, and Alayne decides it will be for the best if she closes her eyes and sees the darkness.

She hears the loud breath of the silent brother, and then his hand is on her thigh. His hands are much softer than they look like, and Alayne tries to calm herself down. He is not here to hurt her, she reminds herself, clenching her teeth. He is a brother of faith, he isn’t capable of anything the other men wanted to do to her.

She feels him move his fingers to her folds, and notices that his hands are shivering as if he was afraid of something. Maybe he was feeling uncomfortable too, he was devoted to the Seven and wasn’t allowed to touch women _down there_. Who knows if he touched any woman like this before, maybe that was the reason for his nervousness. Alayne decides to help him to finish his task quickly and spreads her legs. Randa told her that it helps men to get their access to women’s _cunts_ much easier, and Alayne follows her advice. She hears a muffled sigh and squeezes her eyes harder. He won’t do anything bad, she reminds herself.

The silent brother spreads her inner lips almost the same way Alayne does from time to time when she is lying down in her bed and pleasuring herself with her fingers. Randa told her women can seek a sweet pleasure on their own, and Alayne learned very quickly her friend wasn't lying. She was doing it from time to time, hiding under the warm blankets and furs, touching herself and imagining it weren't her fingers caressing her folds and a little nub. In her mind, the naughty fingers belonged to _another man,_ but _Sansa_ knew she was trying to trick herself. She heard he was dead, there was no chance she could ever feel his hands on her. And her fingers were too small and delicate compared to the huge hands of _that man_. 

The silent brother has huge fingers, though. He touches her gently, and it reminds _Sansa_ of her fantasies. Her eyes are closed, so she can easily imagine it isn't the brother of faith examining her maidenhead. In her mind, this gentleness belongs to _another man_ , she knows he would touch her the same, but his intentions wouldn't be as pure as the ones of a holy man next to her.

That man would tease her folds with a smirk on his face, his gentle caresses making her wet and sensitive. He would stroke her nub too, his raspy voice whispering something about _little lady Sansa_ being a naughty, wanton girl. And _Sansa_ would be moaning and tossing on the bed they shared, her breath shuddered, her eyes full of lust. She would pant and mewl, feeling his huge and warm fingers moving inside her cunt, his thumb working on her little nub. _Sansa_ would be wet, so wet for him.

Alayne is wet.

The sudden realisation strikes her like a thunder and she flinches. The poor brother of faith probably notices it as well, as he almost jumps away, as if she wasn’t a mere woman but a fire. Alayne keeps her eyes shut, but she can hear his ragged breath and loud steps, as he is walking away from her bed. She is done, and Alayne slowly opens her eyes and turns her head to another side. She sees the broad back of the silent brother next to the table, he writes something on a paper Petyr brought with him. He needs to confirm she is still a maiden, Alayne realises. She also realises that brother’s hands are still trembling. Maybe he became aroused too, she thinks, brothers of faith cannot even have any thoughts about women, it is known, and it must be a torture for him to touch woman there and keep his mind clear and his body relaxed.

Randa told her how men can become aroused because of the female body, and Alayne was eager to know more about it. _Sansa_ knew about the effect her body had on men at Joffrey’s court very well, the memories of their dark, lustful stares too fresh in her mind. And it is _Sansa_ who knows what Petyr’s ragged breath means, she was able to escape him until now, but only the Seven know what he could do to her when she will be wed.

Alayne sits on the bed and quickly puts on her smallclothes and thighs. The warm wetness between her legs will make the fabric dirty, she will have to wash it quickly so no one will notice her arousal. Alayne would die from shame if someone learns how her body reacted when it was a simple and stupid check on her maidenhead. And if someone finds out about it, she will have to explain herself, which means her fantasies about _another man_ will have to be revealed. Alayne doesn’t want to share her secret. _Sansa_ doesn’t want it too.

She stands up and straightens her skirts. She is ready to go, but the silent brother moves much quicker than her even with his limp. He opens the door of the cabin, and Alayne sees Petyr standing next to the entrance. 

“Have everything gone well, brother?” he asks, and the silent brother nods, unable to provide any normal answer. He gives Petyr the paper, and Alayne notices he made it in the way his hand didn’t touch her father’s one.

Petyr quickly reads the note from the brother of faith, the worms on his face curling into a satisfied grin.

“Thank you, brother,” he nods to the tall figure in front of him. “You can’t even imagine how much you helped us.”

Alayne walks to the entrance, without even looking at the silent brother. She is sure her face will be on fire as soon as her eyes will meet his face. She cannot lock her stare with the one of the brother's, but just a glance on the darkness from his cowl will be enough for her to die from shame. She feels the slick moisture at her woman’s place, it makes her think about the soft, warm fingers _there_ , and her mind is filled by her fantasy once again.

“We need to go, sweetling,” Petyr drags her out from not so proper thoughts which started to fill Alayne’s pretty head. He drags her to him too, laying his palm on her waist possessively. Alayne flinches and tried to move away, but Petyr’s hand doesn’t allow her to move.

Petyr nods to the silent brother and they walk away to the castle. His hand moves lower at some point, but this time he doesn’t even try to make it look like an accident. Alayne clenches her teeth, but she can’t move away from him or say anything against Petyr’s movements. Alayne thinks her father is acting a little bit too much. _Sansa_ knows it’s because Petyr can’t wait for her to be wedded and bedded. They walk away, and Alayne feels uncomfortable, as if someone is someone is burning a hole in her back with their stare. It must be the silent brother, but when she finds courage and looks back at some point, she sees that the cabin door is closed.

Alayne has her dinner and sends a note to Randa, saying she won’t come today. Her head starts to spin from all different emotions which are fighting inside her soul. Petyr sits too close to her during the whole dinner and whispers that now Sansa Stark’s virtue will be restored. His hand flies to her knee from time to time. Alayne excuses herself at some point and runs to her bedroom.

She locks the door and quickly takes off her dress, and tights, and smallclothes. She doesn’t even take a bath, just pulls on her nightshift and hides under the warm covers. She lies there, curled into a ball, and thinks. Of her upcoming wedding to Harry Hardyng. Of Petyr and his caresses. Of her maidenhead, which was proved earlier today and will be given away just in couple of days. Of Sansa Stark’s legacy. Of Sansa _Stark_.

Sansa isn’t the wife of Tyrion Lannister anymore. Their marriage wasn’t consummated, they’ve just obtained the proof of it, signed by the holy brother of faith. By the day of her wedding to Harry, it has do be annulled officially, which is a matter of some days. Just some _days_.

Alayne knows that the _days_ are nothing comparing to the whole life. She can already consider herself free from Lannisters. At least Petyr already acts as if Sansa Stark - _Alayne Stone_ \- _Sansa Stark_ is a free woman, opened for the caresses and touches from the others. Petyr doesn’t see her as his sweet daughter anymore when they are alone. 

Alayne decides she will think the same, excluding the part about touches and caresses. She closes her eyes, and it’s Sansa who opens them in the next second.

Her name is Sansa Stark. She is free from her unwanted marriage and awaits for another one to happen very shortly. She needs to be happy about it, but now she is too tired to even think about the price she is about to pay for her freedom from Tyrion. 

Sansa closes her eyes again and drifts to a deep sleep. It is full of darkness, but this time it isn’t the darkness which makes her shiver or throw up. The darkness rasps at her quietly and touches her body very gently with soft, but calloused hands. And when she wakes up in the morning, there is a familiar wetness between her legs, and Sansa knows she is a sinner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you see a 'questionable decisions' tag?  
> Well, it's not about the characters of the story, it's about me :')

For she rest of the household she is still Alayne. She laughs like Alayne, talks like Alayne, pouts like Alayne, flirts with Harry like Alayne. Her betrothed arrived in the morning, so eager to spend the rest of the days of his unmarried life close to Alayne. Petyr approves his decision, he says his sweet daughter should spend more time with her future husband. Harry takes her out for a stroll, but is so cold outside Sansa excuses herself and returns to the castle. Harry wants to come with her, but Sansa -  _ Alayne  _ gives him a playful wink and says it’s not appropriate to follow your future bride in her chambers.

She goes to her chambers, barrs the door, lays on her bed and closes her eyes. Sansa doesn’t want anything of this. Sansa wants to be free, to run away, to walk on her feet to Winterfell, even if it will cost her health and her own life. Sansa wants so many things, but can have none. She depends on Petyr and needs to do everything he asks her to do. Even when he asks her to sit still while he tries to caress her breasts.

Sansa wants to see him dead, but she doesn’t have any courage to kill him.

She spends the whole afternoon in her bedroom doing nothing. She lays on her bed and looks at some stains on the ceiling. They are old and shaped like flames. Sansa thinks they resemble the flames from one of the Seven Hells, where she belongs. Or at least will belong after her death.

She falls asleep eventually, and when she wakes up it’s already dark outside. Sansa sits on her bed and rubs her eyes, yawning, and thinks that maybe there won’t be any reason for her to go outside of her bedroom. She can always say that she wasn’t feeling herself well. She doesn’t feel herself well, but her stomach growls in a disappointment. She need to eat something and check on Sweetrobin. Her poor cousin spends most of his days bedridden now, and Sansa wonders if it something to do with the herbs the maester is giving him on a daily basis. She recalls that Petyr wanted her wedding to happen in case of Sweetrobin’s death and flinches.

She doesn’t want to think what it means if her wedding is already arranged.

Sansa gets out of her bed, straightens her skirts and makes herself look more presentable. She might be a bastard for the rest of the household, but she is Petyr’s bastard, which means she need to look accordingly. Before getting outside, Sansa stops in front of the mirror and makes sure the top part of her dress hides her cleavage. She doesn’t want Petyr or Harry to throw expressive glances at her in case she will bump into any of them. She grabs a shawl from a huge chair and puts in on. Just in case.

The dinner is already over, so Sansa sneaks to the kitchen. She gets herself some dried meat and bread, and pours some water. She quickly eats her meal and grabs some dried apples along. They aren’t as tasty as the fresh ones, but she likes to chew on them from time to time. And she could offer them to Sweetrobin too.

When she approaches the stairs in the end of a dark hall, she is taken by surprise by her betrothed.

“Alayne!” Harry beams, tugging at her sleeve. His smile is perfect and there is a playful sparks in his eyes. “I haven’t seen you at the dinner tonight. Is everything fine?”

Sansa nods, clenching her teeth.

“I was just not feeling myself well,” she replies sweetly. “You know, all these nerves before the wedding.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t imagine what you feel - well, I am not a maiden fair, after all,” Harry laughs at his own jape. “Your father was a little bit sad you weren’t able to join us tonight. So was I.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” Sansa pouts. “But I really wasn’t feeling myself well.”

“Are you better now?” Harry asks, but there’s no compassion in his voice. “Maybe we should go for a little walk?”

“But it’s already late,” Sansa tries to object his offer, but Harry hooks his arm though hers and walks her in the direction of the main entrance.

“A little bit of a fresh air won’t hurt before going to bed, right?” his smile still looks perfect, but Sansa learned a long time ago it was wrong to trust nice looks and perfect smiles. “Besides, we are about to marry by the end of this week - shouldn’t we get to know each other a little bit better?”

“There’s nothing special about me,” Sansa lowers her gaze and looks at him through her long eyelashes. “And I think you have already told me everything about you. Or maybe there are some other secrets you’re trying to hide from your future wife?”

Harry laughs at her words, and Sansa takes a deep breath. She doesn’t want to walk by his side. She wants to visit Sweetrobin and go back to her chambers, but Harry doesn’t want to pay any attention to her wishes. That’s what the married life will look like, Sansa tells herself. She will have an ignorant husband and will be good enough for going out with him for the first months of their marriage. Then she will give a birth to their child, and Harry will lose any interest in her. Sansa remembers his remark about how fat his lover had become after giving a birth.

“Should we go to the yard?” Harry offers when they are outside. “Or maybe the garden? There’s something romantic to spend the night with your betrothed under the stars in a garden, right? Or maybe, the sept?”

It’s too late for the sept, Sansa wants to tell him. But then she looks in the direction of a small building and notices there is light inside.

“The sept will be good,” she says. Harry nods with his glued smile and turns in said direction, dragging Sansa with him.

If they are in the sept, she can always tell him she needs to pray. All maidens need to pray before their wedding, asking the Seven for happiness and calm life with their new husbands. She will pray, and Harry won’t be able to annoy her with his meaningless talks.

They enters the sept and Sansa notices that there are little candles in front of each figure of the Seven. She was in this place just couple of times before, and it always looked to unkempt for her. Now it was just a normal tiny sept, the dust and occasional spider webs gone, the small windows clean, the candles lit. It must be the doings of the silent brother, Sansa thinks, and her cheeks becomes hot instantly. She doesn’t feel comfortable even from a thought of him, and she hopes they won’t bump into each other today.

“It doesn’t look like some happy place at all,” Harry looks around and shrugs. “Can’t even imagine our wedding will happen here.”

“It is nice and quiet,” Sansa confronts him. “I like it.”

“Whatever,” Harry shrugs again. “So, Alayne, do you want to pray?”

“Yes,” Sansa answers. “There are several rules all maidens need to follow before their wedding day, and praying to the Seven is one of them.”

“Really?” Harry cocks his eyebrow. “It sounds boring.”

“Yet it needs to be done,” Alayne says, looking around. She wants to lit a candle for each God, but there’s no box with the candles at all.

“Are you missing something?” Harry asks, following her stare. “Maybe I could help my fair betrothed?”

Sansa wants to explain him there’s no candles at all, but she hears the creaking sound of a wooden door and turns around. The silent brother walks in, his cowl on as always, and there’s a candle box in his hands. It isn’t a small box at all, but it looks so tiny comparing to the size of his palm.

“Oh, are you the septon?” Harry steps forward, extends his hand for a handshake. “The one Lord Baelish invited for my wedding with fair Alayne?”

The silent brother puts the box on a small table near the entrance and makes his way to the Father’s altar, Harry’s hand ignored. It is quite dark in the sept, and his face is totally covered from the looks of the others, but Sansa can feel his irritation without hearing a single word from him.

“This is the brother of faith,” she explains to Harry in a hushed tone. “He is here to help with all the preparations - and he can’t speak because of his vow of silence.”

“Did he give a vow of not touching the others as well?” Harry grumbles, offended.

Sansa remembered the soft fingers on her thigh and mound, and rushes away to get some candles she can lit in front of each figure. She doesn’t want Harry to see her face on fire.

She starts with the Father, asking him to protect her and her family. The  _ new  _ family, she correct herself. She isn’t sure if there is anyone from her  _ old family _ left. But she adds Sweetrobin and Jon too, even though she didn’t hear anything about Jon for a while. The statue of the Father stays silent, and Sansa doesn’t tilt her head to take a look at his face. She  _ doesn’t want _ to look at the  _ Father’s  _ face.

She lits a candle for the Mother and asks her to give her a peace of mind she needs now. Sansa wants to stay calm and cold-headed, she needs to be ready to take the part in any game Petyr wants her to play, but she knows very well how restless she is. She needs to be wise, but the only thing she can focus her attention on is the fact how much she doesn’t want her wedding to happen. And that’s not what she needs to think about.

The thoughts of the wedding and her futile life after it fills her head, and Sansa quickly moves to the Maiden. She lits a candle and prays the always young Goddess to calm her mind. Her head is always full of the fantasies which make her hope for some things she will never get, such as love, a happy marriage, or even  _ another man _ in her bed, and Sansa knows she needs to get rid of them before she is wedded. How could she even walk down the aisle to be joined in marriage with Harry, when it’s not Harry she dreams of when she is sleeping. Or touching herself. The proper betrothed would never touch her woman’s place with the thought of  _ another man _ right before her wedding. Of a  _ dead man _ . She needs to forget him, and she prays to the Maiden in a hope she will help poor and lost Sansa.

She asks the Smith to take care of her future household and provide her new family with everything they will need. She lits a candle in front of the Crone too, asking her for wisdom and strength to go through her life.

When she steps to the Warrior’s altar, she almost bumps into the silent brother. He grabs her shoulder to make some space between them.

“Thank you,” Sansa mutters. The silent brother nods and grabs the little wisp he used to clean the altars. He steps away, and Sansa follows him out of the corner of her eyes, trying to keep her sight at the Warrior.

The silent brother reminds her of the Warrior, she thinks. He is tall and has broad shoulders. His hands are big, and his grip on her shoulder was gentle, but strong. Sansa thinks that the ugly robe he is wearing is hiding a muscular body beneath. Sansa wonders of the brother was a soldier himself before. She knows that many people who were fighting are joining the Faith at some point of their lives, and maybe the silent brother was the warrior as well. He is built to be a warrior, and he has a limp, maybe he was wounded and decided to serve the Seven for the rest of his life. Sansa doesn’t know if her presumptions are correct, but she cannot ask him about his past. No, she can, but there won’t be any answer from the brother of faith.

She turns her attention to the Warrior and lits her candle. She prays for the protection she needs. She wants to be protected from any danger she could meet. She wants to be protected from the pain she could go through. She wants to be protected from Harry. She wants to be protected from Petyr. She prays, but she is not so sure the angry, but strong God can hear her. She is just a maiden fair, not a soldier, but she prays the same.

She prays and tries not to think about the warrior who was protecting her before. She started to think about him too much recently. He is even in her dreams, and Sansa wants to know why she can’t just let him go.

She sighs and walks to the last altar. The Stranger looks at her from the darkness, but Sansa can’t see his face. Almost like she can’t see the face of the silent brother. She tilts her head and looks into darkness, as if waiting for the answer from the cruel God. He took so many people from her, and still didn’t grant her a word. He took her father, he took her mother, he took Robb, Bran, Rickon, aunt Lysa, he almost took Sweetrobin. He maybe even took Arya, Sansa doesn’t have a clue about it, but she blames the Stranger the same.

Sansa can’t understand why he had to take all of them, and leave Petyr live. Because of this God, Sansa is left alone with Petyr, and there’s no one to save her, to take her away. The only man who could do so is also gone. Taken by the Stranger.  _ Dead _ .

Sansa knows she needs to lit the last candle and pray, but she can’t. She keeps looking at the darkness in place of the God’s face, and asks the cold statue why he had to leave her on her own. Why did he take everyone, but left her live. Her family is dead, Sansa thinks. The man, who was her only protector, is dead too. Maybe it will be for the best if she died as well. If she died, Petyr won’t be able to marry her off. If she died, Sweetrobin will live.

But the Stranger doesn’t want to see her in his realm. Sansa takes a deep breath and lits the last candle. She quickly asks the God to give her family the rest their souls deserve. She asks to give the man she longs for some peace even after his death. She asks the Stranger to allow her to join her loved ones as soon as it will be possible. She whispers her wish to see Petyr in one of the Seven Hells.

She turns around and exhales. She looks around and notices Harry seating on a bench near the Maiden’s altar. He looks bored, his eyes wandering from one statue to another without even a trace of curiosity in them. Sansa takes a long look and realises he is the man she will have to spend the rest of her life with. Honestly, she wants to scream in despair.

Sansa doesn’t scream. She makes a step forward to her betrothed, and the she knows that something is wrong. It’s too hot and too bright, and it takes her a quick glance to the side to realise her shawl is on fire.

What a misery, Sansa thinks, frozen on the same place. Her shawl caught a fire from the candle she lit for the Stranger. Did the faceless God finally heard her prayer and decided to grant her wish? Sansa can’t move, she just stares at the small flames running up the delicate fabric, and when they reach her sleeve there’s pain. Sansa didn’t know how it feels to be burnt alive, she tried to imagine it for so many times before, but finally she knows.

It’s painful, but it’s just her arm. It’s not her face, and she isn’t a little child. This pain is nothing, she thinks.

“Alayne!” Harry jumps on his feet and makes step forward. He is panicking, looking around for something what he could use to help her. “Alayne, throw your shawl away!”

Sansa can’t move. The flame isn’t big enough to hurt her in truth, she can even feel her arm hurting, but she can’t move. As if the Stranger put her under a spell.

She looks at the flame with a weird fascination, but then her shawl is gone and there’s a wet rug on her arm and shoulders. Sansa tilts her head and sees the silent brother standing so close she can hear his ragged breath. She can feel his fear too, but Sansa has no idea what he was afraid of. Was it the fact the whole sept could be destroyed? Was he afraid of fire? Was he afraid for her life?

“Thank you,” she whispers, looking at him. She can’t see his face, but she feels that he is looking at her, his stare intense. Sansa wants to see his eyes so much.

The silent brother nods, and then grabs her hand and drags her out of the sept.

“Hey!” Harry tries to protest, but the brother ignores him once again. He walks to his cabin as fast as his limp allows, but it is still too fast for Sansa’s liking. She doesn’t know what he wants to do, but she decides to trust him.

He didn’t hurt her before, he won’t hurt her now. She just knows it.

When they are in the cabin, the silent brother points at the bed and walks to the opposite side of the room. There’s a little chest of drawers, and he starts to looks for something straight away. Sansa slowly walks to the bed and sits on its edge. She tries not to think of what had happened to her the last time she was here, and even if she is successful in chasing away the thoughts, her face is on fire anyway.

The silent brother returns and kneels before her. There are two small jars in his hands with some sort of the ointments, and Sansa recalls the story of how the burns of another man were treated the same way. Her burn shouldn’t be as bad as his, so maybe it will work now. She looks at the silent brother and notices that his hands are shaking. Perhaps it was the aftermath of his fear. Sansa really wants to know what he was afraid of.

The silent brother puts the jars on the floor next to him, and then lifts his hands and rips the fabric of her dress on the top. Sansa shivers, but tries to stay calm. He needs to do it for the better access, she tells herself. It will be much easier for him to access her arm, and it really is. He tears off some soft fabric completely, and now Sansa can see the ugly fresh burn on her upper arm, where the shawl was. She can also see one of her breasts becoming naked, but the silent brother doesn’t pay any attention to it.

He takes his ointments and carefully applies them on her burn. Sansa feels the sharp pain and sucks air through clenched teeth. It’s itchy and disgusting, but she sits still. It’s not something she couldn’t go through. She thinks about the little boy who had gone through the worse pain, and sits still.

The silent brother’s caresses are soft and soothing. Sansa looks at his movements and can’t believe he is a gravedigger. His touches are too light and gentle, and Sansa thinks this is the way a good husband should touch his wife. There’s nothing intimate in these touches, but Sansa can’t stop comparing them to the ones she receives from Harry, when they are strolling around the castle. Or the ones she receives from Petyr. She wants to throw up at his touches.

But these caresses are so gentle Sansa wants to cry. The silent brother is just trying to help her, his movement steady and soft, as if he is used to deal with some sort of burns. He applies the ointment from the second jar on top of the first coat, and Sansa feels her skin to start burning. She makes a mournful sound, but the silent brother doesn’t stop his movements. His other hand, however, moves a little bit down, caressing Sansa’s hand as if trying to calm her down.

His hands are just as she remembers, soft and calloused. They don’t tremble anymore, and Sansa starts to relax a little bit. The silent brother is finally down with the ointments, but he keeps his caressing, and Sansa stays on her place.

She likes these touches. They are making her feel warm and calm, Sansa even closes her eyes for a second - but opens them wide straight away. It’s so dangerous to sit like this with her eyes closed. As soon as she sees the darkness and feels these caresses, she starts to think about  _ another man _ .

The silent brother moves his hand to her bare shoulder, he wants to spread the ointment there just in case, Sansa notices. And then she is struck by the thunder. As soon as he moves, the coarse fabric of his robe rubs over her exposed breast, over her nipple, and the sudden sensation makes Sansa to bite her lip. Otherwise, she would moan.

It’s so wrong and so disgusting, and Sansa feels herself so wicked, but the sensation of the fabric on her breast and the caresses of strong hands on her arm and shoulder does unbelievable things to her mind. She thinks about  _ another man _ again, though her eyes are still open. She knows it’s just the poor silent brother in front of her, who tries to help her with all his heart, but her mind is too wicked. She can’t see his face, but when he touches her she really wants to hope there’s a familiar disfigured face under the dark cowl.

  
She bits on her lip and tries to ignore the hot pool in her stomach. It’s so wrong to feel something like this from the caresses of the _brother of faith_ , but she just can’t separate her fantasy from the reality. Sansa squeezes her eyes and mewls quietly, hoping that the silent brother will take this sound as the one of a pain.

He does, he stops his touches and turns his head to face her, an unsaid question remain unsettled.

“It hurts,” Sansa squeaks. She still can’t see his face, but the intensity of his gaze is so strong, even stronger than it was in the sept. Sansa shivers under his gaze. She doesn’t know how the silent brother looks like, but she pictures his eyes to have the colour of a gray steel.

The silent brother nods and stands up. He picks up the jars and goes back to the chest of drawers. Sansa follows him with her eyes, she cannot take her eyes off of him. Now, when she knows how his caring and gentle touches feels like, she can’t stop thinking of his hands on her. It’s so wrong on so many ways, and Sansa imagines instead how she will be burning in the hot flames after her death.

Now she knows how it feels when the fire touches her skin, and she is ready for more. She thinks about  _ another  _ fire, the one which swallows up her body when she thinks about  _ another man _ in her marriage bed. Would his touches be as gentle as the ones of the silent brother? Would he caress her softly? Would he attend to all her needs, like this brother of faith does?

Sansa chases away these questions. She knows they are too sinful, but she is a sinner, right? There’s nothing for her to lose, she repeats herself, when the silent brother comes back and brings a large, soft fabric, so Sansa can cover herself on her way to the castle. He does so much for her, and she uses him for her dirty fantasies. Sansa feels her face on fire.

She mumbles her gratitudes and runs away. Harry is nowhere to be seen, apparently he already left. Sansa runs to the castle and calms down only when she is back in her room. She carefully takes off the soft fabric, so the ointments and her burn won’t be disturbed. She takes the remains of her dress as well, and lays in her bed without wearing her nightshift. It will be better this way for her burn, she decides.

She closes her eyes and prays to all the Gods to send her a dream, but instead her head is full of her memories about the soft caresses. Unlike the touches and caresses from her dreams, these ones are  _ real _ , and it’s so difficult to fight them. Her woman’s place aches, but Sansa just squeezes her tights and eyes shut, trying to calm herself down and ease the pain between her legs.

It doesn’t work, and Sansa falls asleep unsatisfied. Her body is on fire, and Sansa has no idea what is the main reason of it - her arousal, her shame, or the burn on her arm.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, there'r 4 chapters now. This one is too long, so I decided to split the 'epilogue' and post in separately.  
> I went to the dentist today for a regular check-up and walked outside of his room with my tooth taken out. So, if you will have any questions about 'hey, what the fuck i've just read??', I have an alibi - I was too high after getting too much anaesthetic. Yeah, the most perfect alibi :'D  
> But once again, there's no sense at all, and the tags which have the word 'unrealistic' in them are my second alibi :'D

Of course, Petyr gives her a light scolding for being so clumsy.

“Alayne, dear, you should be more careful,” he says shen Sansa comes to his solar. He still calls her Alayne, as if fears someone will be able to eavesdrop their conversation.

He asks her to show him the burn, and she has to obey. She unleashes her dress and shows him her arm and shoulder. Petyr touches the red and bubbly skin, and Sansa shivers. She hates his touch. It’s so disgusting and so creepy. His fingers remind her of spider’s tiny legs.

Sansa thanks the Maiden she was smart enough to wear a corset today, at least Petyr cannot see her breast like this.

Petyr’s touches move to the untouched skin and he keeps caressing her, while whispering something about her upcoming wedding. He says that Alayne - _Sansa_ is lucky to have her maidenhead untouched. She will be able to marry a good lord Harrold Hardyng and become a proper lady wife for him. And then Petyr will reveal her true identity and return Winterfell for them.

He says it about her and her lord husband. But Sansa knows he means that Winterfell will be ruled by her and _Petyr_.

Winterfell is not a place for a man like Petyr Baelish. The lord of Winterfell should be a brave and wise person, not the one who had bogged down in the game of thrones. Not the one who can kill innocent people with his own hands. Not the one who can harass a young maiden with his touches and words.

There’s no place for a man like Petyr Baelish in Winterfell.

“I really hope your marriage to Harry will be a long and happy one,” Petyr whispers in her ear, while his fingers run over the exposed part of her corset. Sansa realises she won’t be a wife of poor lord Hardyng for more than couple of hours. She knows Petyr too well now.

Will it be poison, she thinks, trying to distract herself from Petyr’s hand. Or maybe an accident, after all, no one will find it suspicious if a newly married drunken lord will fall down the stairs and break his neck straight after taking his wife’s maidenhead. People will think he was too happy and too drunk, and not a single soul will put a blame on a respected Lord Baelish. But it could be a poison, though. Petyr has a long history of using it as his main weapon.

“Give your father a kiss,” Petyr begs, and Sansa flinches. She doesn’t move, but Petyr still presses his lips to hers, he even tries to open his mouth and touch her lips with his eely tongue. Sansa doesn’t move, and Petyr breaks his kiss with a disappointed sigh.

“Are you too nervous before your wedding, sweetling?” he asks her with a sincere concern. “Don’t worry, every maiden dreams about this day, right? And we will make sure your wedding will look like the one from your dream.”

The wedding from her dream doesn’t look like the one Petyr is planning for her. In her dreams, she is wearing a silver dress and a gray cloak with the embroidered direwolf on the back. She is in the Godswood of Winterfell, and it is Jon who walks her there. She is not sure why she dreamt of Jon, but he is her only brother left, so it makes sense. And when she comes to the heart tree, it’s not Harry who is waiting for her there. Her groom is much taller, his shoulders are broader, his hair dark and longer. He wears a long, heavy cloak with three dogs on it, and when he takes her as his lady wife his kiss is so gentle Sansa wants to cry. His kiss is not like the one he gave her before leaving, it’s sweet and soft, and his breath doesn’t smell like mint.

But this wedding exists only in her dream. She can’t take Winterfell back without the help from Petyr. And to get his help, she needs to marry Harry. Who might not even see the first light of the next day. Then she will be left a widow, her maidenhead broken, her future foggy. And of course it will be Petyr who will offer his services and consolation for a heartbroken young girl, who won’t be called his bastard-born daughter anymore.

The picture of her future is so clear now. Sansa feels a tight knot in her stomach and wants to throw up. She wants to escape her destiny, but there’s no way she can do anything. Her hands are tied, she doesn’t have enough strength to run away from the Vale and seek help from someone. Because there’s no one who will be able to help her.

Petyr’s trap worked very well.

The knot moves to her chest, and Sansa releases from Petyr’s hands.

“I am sorry, father,” she says, trying to keep her breath calm. “But I’m not feeling myself well enough. Must be the nerves, you’re right.”

“It’s quite normal for a maiden to feel herself nervous, I can’t blame you,” Petyr laughs, his fingers taps the surface of his table. Sansa knows he wants to move them back to her body.

“I will go outside,” Sansa laces the leashes on her dress and straightens it. “Some fresh air should help me, I guess.”

Petyr gives her a farewell nod, and Sansa rushes out of his solar. She gets out of the castle, but the fresh air makes her head spin. Sansa hunkers down, squeezes her eyes shut and rubs her temple. She doesn’t know what is happening to her, she can feel only emptiness and despair. She can’t do anything to protect herself. She can’t escape this place and look for help somewhere else. She can’t even choose her fate herself. She is a little pawn in Petyr’s game, and there’s no way she can beat him with any of her moves.

Sansa sobs. She opens her eyes and looks around. Luckily, there’s no one in the yard, her despair will be left unnoticed. Her gaze stops on the small building of the sept, and Sansa feels an urgent need to go and talk to the Gods.

_They_ let her down, making her life futile. _They_ made her a woman, who can’t have a say in anything which is related to her life. _They_ are guilty in everything, what happened to her.

Sansa tucks up her skirts and runs to the sept. There’s no one inside, she sees only some candle-ends on several altars. It’s dark, and the faces of the Gods look malevolent. Even the Maiden, who was Sansa’s favourite Goddess for years, looks indifferent to her sufferings.

Sansa clenches her fists. She wants to say something, but when she opens her mouth she can only make a sob. She looks at the statues and feels the hot tears running down her cheeks. The Gods doesn’t acknowledge her presence, they look somewhere else, not paying any attention to a young woman who came to their house.

Sansa feels something inside her breaks apart. She cries. She finds her voice and accuses Gods in tearing her life apart. She blames the Father for being too cruel to her fate. She screams at the Mother for making her a woman and abandoning her after that. She accuses the Maiden for her decision that she will have to give her maidenhead to the man she doesn’t love, and will have to share her bed with a man she hates with all her heart. She cries in front of the Smith who allowed her house to be taken away. She says in a loud voice to the Crone that there’s nothing wise in this world, it’s built by the liars and the dodgers. She tries to punch the statue of the Warrior, who completely forgot that a mere woman needs to have a decent protection as well, not becoming a toy in the hands of greedy men.

When she moves to the Stranger, her voice breaks.

“You took everything from me,” she whispers hoarsely. “You took my family, you took the only man who cared for me. Why didn’t you take me to your realm? Don’t you want to have me there as well? Or maybe Petyr? Are you too weak to take him with you? Do you fear mighty Lord Baelish? I thought you were the God of death, not a coward.”

There’s no answer no any of her accusations or pleas. The Gods keep looking to nowhere, completely ignoring Sansa. She falls on her knees and cries. Her body trembles, her eyes hurt, she can’t even breathe properly. She hiccups and rubs her eyes, the hot tears keep streaming down her cheeks.

The Gods hate her, Sansa realises. They want to see her sufferings, her attempts to escape her fate. But there’s no escape, Sansa knows it very well. She will have to marry Harry, give him her maidenhead, mourn his death, follow Petyr’s lead and become a puppet on the seat of the Lady of Winterfell. That’s her only choice.

Sansa cries and cries, and when she is too exhausted for even some small sobs, the world around her becomes dark. She falls into an unconscious dream, and this time she is surrounded by fire and darkness. The fire doesn’t hurt her, and the darkness is mute and cold. Sansa can’t even move, she just curls into a ball on the dark surface she is standing on, the flames licking her body without giving her any damage. Sansa feels herself lost and forgotten. There’s no escape from this darkness, and she sobs quietly.

This dream seems to be endless, but at some point Sansa feels as if there’s someone else next to here. She opens her eyes, but sees nothing except for the darkness and fire. But there’s definitely someone, and she feels strong, warm hands around her body. She leans to the touch, feeling herself in these hands like in the cradle. Her sobs lessen, and then she sees nothing, not even the darkness.

Everything is gone, except for the strong hands.

When she wakes up, she is laying in her bed in the castle. Sansa sits on her bed and looks around, but there’s nobody around. The sky outside is crimson, and she wonders how long she was sleeping like this for. She sneaks out of her bed, changes her dress to the more simple one, and goes to the kitchen.

The woman who works there tells her she slept for almost a whole day. She lost her conscious in the sept and was brought back by the silent brother, who was praised by Lord Baelish for his actions. Sansa blinks. If she slept for almost a whole day, it means her wedding will take place the next afternoon, she realises.

Her appetite is gone straight away, she thanks the woman for the food she brought and walks out of the kitchen.

The castle looks quite empty, she notices, walking to Petyr’s solar. She knows that almost all the guests will arrive only tomorrow, but she never expected the afternoon before her wedding to look so calm. She knows that the cooks are already working on the dishes which will be served for the small feast, and all the decorations will be put in the castle’s great hall only in the morning. Her dress will be ready in the morning as well, she has no idea what Petyr had ordered for her, but knows she won’t like it at all.

She knocks on the door of Petyr’s solar, but there’s no answer. He might be busy with something, Sansa thinks. She knocks again and clears her throat.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, father,” she says in a loud voice. “But I just wanted to let you know I am feeling myself well now. I will rest before my wedding, so don’t worry about me.”

Petyr doesn’t answer, and Sansa walks away. She visits Sweetrobin, who looks even weaker than the day before. He isn’t happy about the upcoming wedding, after all, he wanted to marry his cousin himself.

“I hope you will become a widow fast enough,” he grumbles, and Sansa can’t stop herself from laughing. Poor Sweetrobin doesn’t even know how right he is.

She ruffles his hair and kisses his temple, saying good night. It isn’t too late, but Sansa doesn’t think she will see him again today. She walks away and runs into a maester on the threshold. Sansa knows he brings Sweeetrobin his medicine every afternoon, but when she quickly looks at the basket he has with him, she doesn’t see the herbs her cousin receives on the request of Petyr.

Maester asks her to leave, and Sansa walks out, closing the door behind her. She thinks of visiting Randa, but then decides that she doesn’t want to spend her last free afternoon in the company of anyone. Sansa goes back to her chambers, picks a warm hooded cloak and goes outside.

She walks to the small garden and sits on the bench. She hopes nobody will notice her here, especially her betrothed. She closes her eyes and tries not to think of anything, but the thoughts of her wedding floods her minds. Sansa feels an emptiness in her stomach and wants to cry, but there’s no tears left after the previous day. Sansa locks her fingers on her lap and stares at them owlishly. She can’t believe she will be wed tomorrow.

She knew about it in advance, she didn’t want it, but still made herself to accept the fact she will be married off by Petyr, she even accused the Gods in making her suffer. But even though this joke of a wedding looked too far and unreal. And know Sansa realises she will be married to Harry in less than a day. She thinks this realisation will make her sick, will make her scream, will make her beg the Gods for mercy, but instead she feels a hole in her chest. A hole in her soul.

Maybe her weird dream in the sept was something like a prophecy. She died in flames last night and only an emotionless shell was left in the place of Alayne Stone - in the place of _Sansa Stark_.

It will be much easier for her to exist as this shell. She won’t feel any despair during her wedding. There won’t be any pain when she will lose her maidenhead. And, of course, she will be completely indifferent to the destiny of her husband. To her own destiny. Men like Petyr could do anything with her body and her future, and she won’t feel anything. She will bear as many children as these men will wait from her. She will seat on the cold seat of the Lady of Winterfell like a porcelain doll. People will see her lifeless body, but none of them will know her soul died in flames of her dream.

Maybe the Gods had finally listened to her pleas and took her soul away. It wasn’t exactly what Sansa asked them for, but in the end they eased her sufferings.

Sansa blinks and stands up. It’s already dark outside and it started to snow. Sansa follows some quick snowflakes with her indifferent stare. She envies them a little bit, they are free to do whatever they want, while she is not. She wants to be able to shape her future, but this right was taken from her as soon as she was born and her parents realised they had a girl.

Sansa thinks of Arya. She has no idea of what had happened to her sister, but she is sure Arya would be able to do something. Arya would run away. Arya would steal a tiny sword from one of the lazy soldiers and fight until the last breath. Arya would find her way to rebel.

But she isn’t her sister. She is Sansa Stark, a fair maiden who is about to be wed. She can do nothing.

Sansa knows she needs to go and have some rest before the wedding day. But she doesn’t care what is expected from her. She can’t be a proper rebel, but she wants to do anything what could be labeled as wrong one. She takes a stroll across the yard, nodding to the knights she meets on her way. She doesn’t know where she is going, but when she finds herself on the steps of the sept, Sansa isn’t surprised at all.

She visits this little sept too often for a person who blamed the Gods for all her pain. But the Gods listened to her cries, making her soul empty, and she needs to offer her prayers to the Maiden on the last night before her wedding. Sansa put the hood of her cloak and enters the sept.

There are candles on all altars, and out of the corner of her eye she sees the huge figure of the silent brother standing in front of the Stranger. Judging by the candles and the cleaness of the sept, he was preparing everything for tomorrow. For her wedding. Sansa has no idea why he decided to pray to the Stranger, but she doesn’t want to distract him. She walks to the Maiden’s altar and lifts the candle.

She whispers her pray. She thanks the Maiden for taking away all her emotions. She asks her to make sure she won’t be able to feel any pain even being so empty. She whispers she doesn’t want to give her maidenhead to Harry, but she needs to obey Petyr’s wish. She looks at the emotionless face of the statue and feels a little tingle of pain in her chest. Her emotions aren’t gone, Sansa laughs bitterly, she was just pretending. Or the Maiden decided to play a jape on Sansa and returned her feelings as soon as she heard her clumsy prayer.

With the pain comes back the other feelings. There is fear, which makes Sansa’s hands tremble. There is a warmth in her chest and a coldness in her stomach. And there is hatred. A pure, wholesome hatred which fills Sansa’s body straight away. She feels hatred towards Petyr. She feels hatred towards Harry. She feels hatred towards herself.

Why she was born so weak she couldn’t even stand up for herself? Does she deserve to live like this? Why did she allow everyone but herself to decide how her future will look like?

Sansa hears the muffled footstep behind, but she doesn’t even turn around. She knows it’s the silent brother, nobody else could be in this tiny sept at this hour of the day. She wants to greet him, but as soon as she opens her mouth she hears completely different words said in her voice.

“Why did you save me?” she asks him, clenching her fists. She knows he won’t be able to answer, but she doesn’t turn around to see his posture or the movements of his hands. She can feel the tension, though.

She hears the rustling of his robe. He makes some steps and stands next to her, quiet as always. Sansa acknowledges his presence, but doesn’t turn her head to his side.

“You had to let me burn,” she says, her voice blank. “I would be much happier if I died, you know.”

She can hear the silent brother asking her why she thinks so, even if he doesn’t say a word.

“My family is dead, brother,” she says, closing her eyes. “My father, my mother, my siblings. Everyone is dead. Even the man I am longing for is dead.”

She hears a muffled sound which reminds her of a chuckle. Sansa doesn’t find her story funny at all.

“Are you laughing at me? At how stupid I am?” she cocks her eyebrow and finally turns to face the silent brother. “Do you think my wish to die is so stupid?”

He nods.

“I know that the holy books are teaching us to cherish our lives, but I bet the men who wrote them never felt a true despair,” Sansa says to him, looking at the darkness of his cowl. “They would definitely understand my wish to die.”

The silent brother shakes his head.

“You’re a man, you won’t understand me,” Sansa laughs at his reaction. “You’re the brother of faith. You serve the Gods, and you don’t need to worry about your fate. Tell me, did you decide to serve the Gods on your own will?”

He freezes, as if he tries to figure out what to answer. He nods, but straight after that shakes his head in a denial.

“Oh?” Sansa feels herself surprised. “But you nodded. So you took some part in shaping your future, right?”

The silent brother shrugs. Sansa thinks he isn’t sure about his own decision.

“And I wasn’t able to do anything,” she tells him. “I was told who will be my lord husband, whom I need to give my maidenhead and serve as a dutiful wife. And I know that the Gods are waiting for me to obey these wishes. Tell me, brother, is it sinful to think that the Gods hate me?”

He shrugs again.

“You don’t know?” Sansa narrows her eyebrows. “Then, tell me, if killing is a sin, is it sinful to dream of a death of a man who is trying to use me as his toy?”

The silent brother shrugs again, but this time Sansa notices that he shook his head at the same time, as if he kind of approves her desire to see Petyr dead. But it must be her dull imagination, Sansa thinks. None of the brothers of faith will ever approve someone’s death.

“Then I am a sinner, right?” she laughs. “I hate my future husband and long for another man, who will never be mine. I dreamt of him on my marriage bed, you know? And I don’t feel any regrets about it.”

Sansa can feel that his stare had tensed immediately. Probably, he doesn’t want to talk about the marriage bed. He is the silent brother, after all. 

“Are you judging me for my thoughts?” Sansa asks, narrowing her eyes. “But they’re just mere thoughts. I’ve never been with another man, brother. I was dutiful enough to obey the wishes of my parents and captors, and now I need to lay with a man I don’t want to see by my side.”

The brother makes a helpless gesture. Sansa knows he can’t do anything to save her. He might look like another man who used to be her protector, but he isn’t _him_. He can’t even tell her some reassuring words because if his vow.

“I know you don’t really care about my words,” Sansa laughs. “You will leave this place after the wedding anyway, so there’s no point for you to think too much about some stupid sinner’s words.”

The silent brother didn’t give her any promises. He just saved her once, that was all what he did for her, apart from _assessing her maidenhead_. But he didn’t give her any promises, nor she had any sort of a connection with him, but Sansa feels sadness anyway. She even feels the tears appearing in the corners of her eyes. She blinks and shakes her head.

She thought too much about _another man_ because of the silent brother, and now her mind is a big mess.

Sansa stares at him, she wants to look straight at his eyes, but she can’t.

“You shouldn’t save at all,” she whispers and turns away, looking at the candle she lit in front of the Maiden.

She knows that some people claim they can see future in the flames. Sansa stares at the little flame on top of her candle, but the only thing she sees is the fire she will be burning in after her death. The Maiden is not that god of light, she can’t guide Sansa using this little flame. None of the Seven can, they can only judge her for her actions and stare at her without any expression on their faces.

Sansa stares at the flame and knows she have sinned. She feels the warm hand on her shoulder, and this little gesture reminds her of the similar one, which had happened years ago. When the man she is longing for touched her shoulder the same way. But it’s not him, Sansa reminds herself, her eyes squeezed. She holds her breath, trying to sink in the feeling of standing next to the person she wants to be by her side. When she will open her eyes and breathe again, the illusion will break.

But she has to breathe. Otherwise, she will die just like this.

“You remind me of another man,” she whispers. She can’t see the silent brother now, but she feels his hand to flinch.

He still squeezes her shoulder, but this little movement of his makes Sansa laugh.

“I think about him too much for a woman, who is getting married tomorrow,” Sansa says. “I close my eyes and he is there, looking at me with his sharp eyes and gives me his cloak. I know it will never happen, but I like to imagine our wedding.”

The silent brother squeezes her shoulder lightly, as if he is asking her a question.

“Why it won’t happen?” Sansa voices his question. “Because he’s dead. The Stranger took him, and let me live with Petyr and men like him by my side. Isn’t it cruel, brother?”

This time he doesn’t move at all.

“Of course you won't give me an answer to this question," Sansa laughs sadly. "You're the man of faith, you can't question the Gods and their will. But I am a sinner anyway, my soul belongs to the hot flames of the Hell. I felt them when my skin was burnt. Do you know this feeling, brother?"

She feels a little stab of pain from his grip.

"Maybe you do," she agrees. "But I am sure the fire in the Hell I will be put into won't make my skin turn red and cover it with burns. I saw it in my dream, it felt like nothing."

The silent brother finally moves his hand away. He doesn't have any other words for her, Sansa realises with a sigh. He can't talk to her, but there's nothing he can say her anyway. Maybe he doesn't want to talk about the fire. He is devoted to the Seven, there's no reason for him to worry about the flames of one of the Seven Hells at all.

"Tell me, brother," she whispers, her gaze still focused on the candle. "Did you have a woman if your life who was filling your mind every moment of your life?"

Sansa is sure she just heard a low grumble. Maybe he had. It's not a surprise, he's a man, after all. And he wasn't born in his ugly robes and with the cowl on his head. Sansa wonders for a second how he looks like. But she can't ask him to show his face. She doesn't want to ask him to show his face.

Then her little illusion will be dead, the same way the man she thinks of is.

"I think of another man, brother," she repeats and moves her hand to rub her eye. She feels the tears coming to her throat, the salty feeling fills her mouth instantly. "I think of him all the time. I thought of him even when you touched me _down there_ with any bad intention. Your hands feel just like his, did you know it?"

Sansa doesn't know why she makes this confession to the silent brother, but there's no way she could be married tomorrow without revealing her ugly little secret. She moves her head and looks at him again. The silent brother freezes on his place, his confusion palpable. 

"It's a sin to think of a holy man like this, I know," Sansa laughs, swallowing her tears. "You were doing your duty, and I used you to make my illusion to become a little bit closer to the reality. I'm a sinner, brother."

He doesn't move, but somehow Sansa understands he is afraid. She makes a little step towards him and he flinched, the same way he did couple of days ago, when he quickly moved his fingers out of her wet folds. He is confused by her actions and is afraid of sinning, Sansa realises. He is a man, after all. Made of blood and flesh, he is a man, but he isn't the man Sansa wants to touch her.

But he looks like _another man_ , and Sansa wants to cry. She laughs instead, her twisted mind mixes all her memories together. She remembers how soft and caring were the silent brother's touches, she remembers the dark rasp of a man she wants to see on the brother’s place. She remembers the blade at her throat, she remembers the warmth in her belly when calloused fingers touched her inner thigh.

She is a sinner.

“Maybe the Gods wanted me to sin,” Sansa laughs again, looking at the indifferent expression on the Maiden’s face. “They need more sinners to burn in their Hell, so they’ve chosen me, right? They made me long for another man, they made me suffer, they filled my head with the thoughts of my dead enemies and a man in my marriage bed who isn’t my husband. Brother, you’re the man of faith, you should know why they decided torture me like this - tell me, why?”

Sansa feels her hands shaking. She wants to laugh and cry at the same time, she just reached the limit of her sanity. It’s almost like the day before, when she was accusing the Gods out of despair, but hundreds time stronger. Her body trembles, it’s already on fire. The burn on her arm starts to itch.

She is already burning the the scariest of all Seven Hells. She has nothing to lose, except for her maidenhead, which became the key for Petyr to reach Winterfell’s seat. To win his own game of thrones. Sansa doesn’t want him to win. He will not get my maidenhead, she thinks. Not him, nor Harry the Puppet.

“I was told the people of faith should help the others,” Sansa whispers, her eyes glued to the Maiden’s statue. Suddenly she knows what she needs to do. “Will you help me, brother?”

She turns on her heels and makes a large step, grabbing the coarse fabric of the silent brother’s robe.

“Will you help me, brother?” Sansa thinks she is going mad. “You gave a promise to help the ones who are in need, right?”

He shrugs. Sansa doesn’t know what exactly he is unsure of, but she still feels his confusion.

“There’s nothing for me to lose, that’s what I’ve just realised,” Sansa smiles, and her smile is sincere. “Do you know, why Lord Baelish wanted you to access my maidenhead that quickly? So he will have a chance to lay with me. Instead of the man who will become my husband. I’m sure of it.”

She notices that the silent brother clenches his fist. She hopes it’s because he doesn’t like Petyr as well.

“Everyone is paying too much attention to my maidenhead,” she chuckles, the tears coming to the corners of her eyes again. “And I know I need to obey the will of the Gods and give it to the man who will become my husband, right? But that’s not fair.”

She pouts, trying to hide her hysterical state under the mask of a spoiled little maiden. She does so, but somehow she knows that the silent brother won’t buy it.

“If I can’t take charge of my own life, I would like to handle at least something I have,” she smiles again and swallows the lump in her throat. “Save me from them, brother. Take my maidenhead.”

He freezes for a second, and then rushes away from her, just like the last time. He tries to get a proper distance from Sansa, but his limp fails him. He trips on the small bench next to the Maiden’s altar and almost falls on it. Sansa doesn’t release her grip on his sleeve, she is dragged down with him, but that’s everything she needs.

What a good coincidence, she thinks, latching on to his shoulders and looking at him with a ferocious gaze. He lands on the little bench, and Sansa quickly seats herself on his lap. She had never been bold like this with any of the men, even when she had a task from Petyr to seduce Harry, she wasn’t able to imagine doing anything like this.

But now there’s nothing to lose, she reminds herself. She is already a sinner, and laying with the man of faith won’t make things worse. At least she can close her eyes and pretend it’s _another man_ . She would like to give her maidenhead to _him_ , but he is dead. And the poor silent brother is here, his hands as strong and soft as _his_ ones, his stature so similar to _his_ one, and with her eyes closed Sansa can even imagine that his breath and any groans he will make will be the ones of the man she wants to lay with.

“Don’t worry, brother,” she whispers, getting her skirts up. “The Gods won’t consider you a sinner, so you won’t burn in the Hell which is destined for me. You will help me, right? And this is a right thing to do, to help the ones who are in need, right?”

Sansa can tell he is shocked by her behaviour. He is a tall and strong man, but now his body is weak because of the thoughts in his head. Sansa has no idea what exactly he thinks of, but she is sure he considers her mad. Maybe she is mad. A maiden with her mind clear and strong won’t jump on the lap of a man she doesn’t even know. A well-raised maiden won’t start to unleash her dress to get her breasts out. Randa told her that just a sight of woman’s creamy breasts can arouse any man, and Sansa doesn’t feel any spark of shame when she exposes her bare chest to him. She hopes it will work.

“All these men were telling me I am beautiful,” she mumbles, running her fingers across her breasts. She has no idea why she does so, but she heard Petyr’s soldiers talking about doing so with the soft teats of wenches they wanted to sleep with. “Tell me, brother, am I beautiful?”

He doesn’t reply as always, but Sansa can hear his breath becoming ragged. It is the perfect timing to reach out her hand and take off his cowl, but instead her hands move lower, trying to find the border of his robe. Her fingers tremble, and Sansa knows she is scared to seeing his face. Even now, when she is about to lose her maidenhead with him. 

She still wants to live in her illusion.

She unleashes his breeches, made from the same material as his robe, and finds his manhood half-hard already.

“So you _are_ the man of blood and flesh,” she whispers, getting it out of his smallclothes and giving him a stroke. Sansa has no idea if she is doing it right, she just tries to do what Randa was blabbering about. She moves her hand again and again, and then she hears him to make a really low groan with the backside of his throat. That’s the only approval she needs.

Sansa slides her free hand under her skirts and unlaces her smallclothes. She is wearing her warm socks, there’s no need for her to climb down from his lap to prepare herself, she just eases the laces and moves her smallclothes to the side. And if she climbed down, there could be a possibility for him to fully realise what was happening and push her away, standing up and dragging Sansa outside of the sept.

That’s not what she needs.

“Tell me, brother,” she whispers, standing on her knees on the bench and leaning closer, his manhood now right under her soft and already a little bit wet folds. “Were you aroused like I was that day? Did you see a woman in me, not just a faceless lady, whose maidenhead had to be assessed? Do you want me?”

He doesn’t say a word, and Sansa knows he doesn’t want her. He is the brother of faith, he can’t lay with any woman, and she dragging him to the flames with her.

“I want the silent Gods to see us,” she says with a laugh, feeling herself so wicked. Sansa was raised to respect the Gods and their wishes, but now she doesn’t care anymore about the things which were put in her head in her youth. After all, she is a sinner.

She is a sinner for laying with a man, who isn’t her husband. She is a sinner for laying with a _man of faith_. She is a sinner for doing it right in the sept. She is a sinner for pretending the man here is a completely different person, the one the Gods took from her.

She is a sinner, but at finally she is doing what she wants. Not her parents, not her guardians, not Petyr, not any other person in the whole world. She.

She can feel the silent brother’s shoulders getting tense. Of course he doesn’t want her. He hates her right now, Sansa is sure of it.

“Don’t worry, brother,” she almost whispers, moving her face closer to his hooded face. “You are not a sinner. But I really want the Gods to see I am still capable of making my own decisions, even if they are so stupid and mad.”

She lowers herself down and feels the tip of his manhood with her folds. She knows it will hurt, but at least she heard it will be much easier to lose her maidenhead like this, and not laying down on her back. At least she is wet. Sansa squeezes her eyes and lowers herself down.

It’s painful. She knew that the silent brother is a well-built man, and his manhood is a huge one too, but it still hurts. But there’s no way back, and Sansa keeps lowering herself, tugging at his shoulders and squeezing her eyes. The moan full of pain escapes her mouth, and she feels that the silent brother flinches.

“It’s alright,” she tells him, but it sounds as if she tries to calm herself down. She keeps moving, and when she had finally lowered herself on him, so she can feel the coarse fabric of his breeches with her arsecheeks, Sansa realises she was holding her breath.

Sansa inhales and tries to move. She has no idea how to do it properly, she just acts like she was told women should move while riding their lovers’ manhoods. But she is not with her lover, and maybe that’s why her actions are so clumsy and gives her a dull pain. She knows these actions can bring a woman a pure bliss, but now there’s only pain, pain, pain.

Sansa clenches her teeth and sobs. That’s definitely not how she was imagining herself losing her maidenhead, but that’s the only right thing to do. Otherwise, it would be taken by a man she didn’t choose.

But she is lost, she can’t do anything properly, and she sobs again. And again. There are hot tears streaming down her cheeks, and Sansa leans forward and buries her face in the rough fabric of the robe. She cries, but somehow she feels herself free. Maybe because she finally made her own choice. Maybe because she just became a woman bedded. Or maybe because she is finally free. Even if she will have to marry Harry tomorrow and spend the rest of her life with Petyr by her side, she is free.

She stays like this, her fingers wrinkling the robe of the silent brother, her eyes squeezed shut. The pain is so strong she can’t even sink into her fantasies about  _ another man  _ being inside of her. But then she feels the silent brother to move his hands, and the next moment they are on her waist. He gives her a clumsy caress, and his fingers, which were made for digging or killing, move down her skirts and touch her thighs. Sansa gasps at his actions and swallows the tears in her throat.

He touches her, caresses her, but he sits still. He doesn’t move, as if he really cares for Sansa and wants to give her some time to get comfortable with his manhood in her woman’s place. But it’s a lie.  _ Another man _ would do so, but the silent brother hates her for sure. Sansa shakes her head when she feels his thumb rubbing the little bundle of nerves which have her so much pleasure before, and then she moans. There’s no pain in this moan, and the silent brother’s shoulders relax.

He keeps touching her down there, and very soon he starts to move. Sansa still feels some pain, but it’s completely bearable. What he is doing with her soft spot makes her weak, her head spins around. Sansa likes these touches, his fingers so warm and soft, and then she hears him to groan. His movements are faster now, and Sansa tries to not think about anything else. She concentrates her mind on these touches and movements, and takes a deep breath.

She is so cruel towards the poor silent brother. Sansa squeezes her eyes and the darkness assures her she is now not with the man of faith. She is with  _ another man _ , with  _ Sandor _ , who cares for her, who touches her so softly and gently because he means it, who wants to have her because of who she is.

The caresses on her little nub become faster, and Sansa moans. She feels a tiny waves of pleasure to fill her body, but she isn’t sure if she will be able to find her bliss. There was too much pain before, but at least the movements of a hard manhood inside her body are pleasant now. She starts to move as well, she feels so clumsy but she doesn’t really care anymore. She like it.

Sansa doesn’t want to look at the silent brother, but she feels him to take his hand away from her waist. He moves it up, as if he wants to do something with her hair or his cowl, and then she suddenly feels his lips on the exposed skin of her shoulder. Her traces the lines of her fresh burn with his lips, and Sansa shivers. There’s something intimate it his actions, something has doesn’t have a name for, and somehow it sets her body on fire. She’s so hot, she can’t be bothered about the flames of the Hell anymore.

She won’t feel any pain after her death, the fire set by the Seven Devils will be nothing comparing to what she experiences now.

The silent brother moves his lips to the untouched part of Sansa’s shoulder, and she freezes. His lips are soft, his caresses are light and caring, but it’s so wrong. His lips feel so  _ normal _ , and it breaks Sansa’s illusion into tiny pieces.

That’s not  _ him _ .

  
She remembers the only kiss she shared with  _ Sandor _ , the burnt part of his lips being rough and a little bit scratchy. She pictured this kiss when she was lonely, she relived this kiss when she was touching herself in her bed. She knows the texture of his lips too well, and the lips which are caressing her skin now are not  _ Sandor’s _ .

Sansa thinks she moaned his name in her despair.

Sansa sobs and wants to end everything right now, she wants to run away and hide under the warm furs in her bedroom, but her body betrays her. She feels herself moaning, and then the bliss finally washes over her. It’s not as strong as she imagined, but her body becomes weak and her soul ascends to the Heavens. Her woman’s place squeezes around the silent brother’s manhood, and Sansa hears his low groan, almost a moan. He comes in her, and she doesn’t mind it at all.

Maybe her child won’t look like Harry or Petyr. He will be tall, his shoulders broad, his hands strong and caring. And she will convince herself her child will be the one of  _ Sandor _ . Even if he won’t look like  _ Sandor  _ at all. After all, she has no idea how the silent brother looks like.

Sansa feels the seed coming out of her woman’s place. She also feels the tears running down her cheeks again. She is crying, it’s so strange to even think she thought earlier that there’s no tears left in her.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers to the place where the silent brother’s ear should be. He doesn’t make any sound, but then he moves his hands to his cowl, as if he wants to reveal his face, but Sansa is faster.

She grabs his hands, not letting him to take the cowl off.

  
“Please, don’t,” she whispers, and the silent brother nods. She doesn’t know if he is able to understand her. She just doesn’t want to meet the eyes of a man who hates her for her actions. She just doesn’t want to meet the eyes of a man who is not _Sandor_. She just doesn’t want her little broken world to be destroyed completely. 

She cries, and her mind doesn’t want to cooperate. She feels herself like a lifeless puppet. She allows the silent brother to take care of her, her helps her to adjust her dress and fasten the leashes on her dress. Her eyes are full of tears, and she can’t even take a proper look at the silent statues of the Maiden before she leaves the sept on her weak legs. Did the Goddess approved her actions? Was she happy with Sansa for acting on her own will? Is she hating Sansa now for laying with a man in the  _ sept _ ?

Sansa doesn’t know the answers to these questions. The only thing she knows is that she is still a stupid little girl, whose fantasies are making her life worse.

Sansa falls asleep as soon as she reaches her bed. She doesn’t take her blowsy dress off, she doesn’t wash herself. She falls asleep with her blood and the silent brother’s seed between her legs, and she doesn’t care about it at all.

In her dreams, she sees the flames again. But this time, they’re hurting her.

There’s no Sandor to take her away or rasp her some reassuring words this time, and Sansa burns to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahem  
> i am questioning my own brains right now


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams like a cowboy in the sky*  
> I'm done with it, and I still have no idea what the fuck it was :')

Sansa wakes up from the loud knocking on her door. Someone is looking for her, and Sansa wonders what they want her to do this early. She sits on her bed and rubs her sleepy eyes, wondering for a second why she allowed herself to fall asleep in her dress.

Then she remembers it’s her wedding day. Then she remembers everything from yesterday.

Sansa feels a hot wave of shame wash over her. She falls back on her bed and covers head with her pillow. Her face is so hot it hurts, and she feels her body starts to tremble. For the first time in her life she decided to do something on her own accord, and she did the most stupid thing ever. The most illogical thing. She thought that losing her maidenhead will somehow set her free, but it’s her wedding day, and the only thing she achieved was her silly revenge on Petyr, Harry, and any other man who wanted to have her.

But now her head is clear, and Sansa sees that there was no point in laying down with a man to offend someone like Harry or Petyr. They won’t even notice that she isn’t a maiden anymore, and Sansa will have to live with the knowledge she sinned. She laid with a man. She  _ forced  _ a man to take her maidenhead, even if she was a weak fair lady. She made a man of faith to break his vows. She have sinned in so many ways at the same time. Sansa feels a new wave of an absorbing shame washing over her. She wants to disappear.

The person on the other side of her door doesn’t want her to disappear at all. Sansa hears her name, and she recognises the voice of the old maid, who is usually attending another part of the castle. It's muffled, but Sansa thinks she can hear tears in it.

She slowly gets off the bed and adjusts her dress. She takes a look in the mirror before opening the door, and flinched. She look just the same, but Sansa thinks her appearance screams about what she did last night.

There's a dull pain between her tights, and Sansa remembers she didn't wash herself yesterday. She decides it can wait.

"Lady Alayne," the maid greets her with red eyes and wet traces on her cheeks. "Your father, he…"

"My father?" Sansa freezes. "Tell me, Jeyne, what's with my father."

"He's dead," whispers the maid, her hands flying to her mouth as soon as she said these words.

Sansa blinks. Her father…  _ Petyr _ is dead?

"Are you sure?" she asks and her voice trembles. Not from the grief, though. She can't wait to hear the old maid to say Petyr Baelish is  _ really _ dead.

"They found him in the morning," poor woman almost whispers these words. "Laying in his bed, his neck cut - maester Colemon said he was laying like that for more than a day."

Sansa raises her eyebrows. She remembers herself coming to Petyr's solar last afternoon, she tried to let him know she's doing well, and there was no reply. He was already dead by that time. Slaughtered in his warm bed by someone whose name Sansa won't even learn. She wonders what exactly Petyr did for that person, that he was ready to cut his throat in the castle full of soldiers and knights. Probably something awful. Petyr was too good in all awful things.

"Jeyne," she looks at the maid. "Please, ask the girls to prepare a bath for me."

The woman looks at her surprised, apparently, she was waiting for her tears, it was her  _ father _ who died, after all. But Sansa doesn't care about what the others could think of her behaviour. Besides, she had already mourned her  _ father _ years ago. 

When the bath is ready and Sansa finally soaks in, she thinks of her wedding. The old maid didn't tell her anything about it, and Sansa thinks it's quite understandable. There's a dead man in the castle, they can't forget about him and simply proceed with the wedding. She is spared from the unwanted marriage just for a little bit more. Sansa sighs and washes herself, cleaning her inner thighs and her too sensitive folds carefully. She's still sore there, and when her hands moves there's, the images of the previous night flash in her mind. Sansa feels ashamed.

She moves her hand to wash her burnt arm and shoulder, the burn still pink and itching. She cleans it, running her fingers over it. Sansa wonders if this mark will disappear soon, or she will be carrying it for the rest of her life. She hopes for the second. Somehow she wants to have this reminder of everything what had happened to her until the end of her life.

She puts on a simple, but warm dress and walks to the dining room. Sweetrobin is there, as well as is Lord Royce and some other Lords. Sansa bows to them and sits near her cousin. She watches him out of the corner of her eye, his attention fully focused on his meal. Sansa notices that his cheeks doesn’t look pale anymore. She hopes it’s a good sign.

“With our deepest sympathy,” Lord Nestor starts, looking at Sansa. “We are so sorry for what happened to your father.”

Sansa isn’t sorry about Petyr at all, but she nods.

“Thank you, my lord,” she says courteously. “Do you know, what will happen now?”

Lord Nestor nods and explains her what he and all other Lords were discussing earlier. Poor Sweetrobin will be under the protection of Lord Royce and his family. They will take care of him, they will look after his health, and he won’t be in need for anything before he will come out of age and become the proper Lord himself. Sansa listens to Lord Nestor and shots a quick glance in the direction of her cousin. Sweetrobin is too busy with his breakfast, he hums something under his nose and Sansa smiles.

When they are done with the fate of Robert Arryn, Lord Nestor sighs.

“I’m very sorry to tell you these news,” he rubs his temple and looks at Sansa with a sincere concern. “But I’m afraid your marriage to Harrold Hardyng won’t take place anymore.”

“Oh, really?” Sansa tries to keep her expression calm and indifferent. But she feels the corners of her lips to move in a tiny smile. She can’t help, but smiles. “Is it because my father is dead, and they an arrangement between him and Ser Harrold doesn’t work anymore?”

“Not exactly,” Lord Nestor shakes his head and looks at her with a puzzled expression. “The thing is, young Harrold told us about his decision to end the betrothal even before the body of Lord Baelish was discovered.”

“Is it so?” Sansa cocks an eyebrow.

“Unfortunately,” Lord Nestor sighs. “Don’t know what exactly made him change his mind, but he looked so determined to call off the betrothal. I’d say, even scared of something.”

Sansa shrugs. She doesn’t really care for the reason why Harry ends this joke of a betrothal. She wants to laugh, she wants to dance, she wants to run outside and scream. But she needs to sit here with the Lords and listen to their thoughts and offers about the future of the Eyrie and young Lord Arryn.

She sits with them, and at some point the discussion turns to some personal matters between said Lords. Sansa quietly sneaks out of the table, giving a polite nod to each of the man. She needs to go and tend to her needs, she tells them. Sweetrobin waves his head and says he wants Alayne to stay with him in Eyrie, even if Baelish is dead.

“We’ll see how the things will go,” Sansa gives him a warm, sincere smile and leaves.

She goes outside and strolls around the yard. She feels a cold breeze touching her cheeks, and she can’t hide her wide smile. She should look sad and mourn her dead father and the end of her betrothal, but there’s no way Sansa will hide her true feelings now. She would be so happy to reveal her true identity to the Lords right now, but she thinks it will be better to wait. Just for a little bit.

She wanders around, watching servants taking off the wedding decorations, and her heart sings. She’s glad her wedding won’t happen anymore. She isn’t sorry for Petyr’s death at all. She feels herself  _ free _ .

She wanders around, and then realises she came to the sept once again. It’s so wrong to be here after the last night, but Sansa feels a vivid urge to come inside. She opens the door cautiously, but there’s no one around, so Sansa walks in. There’s no candles lit on the altars, as well as on the lampstands around the sept, but it’s still bright outside. The light from the small window is enough to see the quiet faces of the Gods.

Sansa moves to the Stranger straight away.

“Thank you,” she whispers. She was doubting his strength earlier, but the cruel God listened to her words. He took Petyr to his dark realm.

Sansa feels the tears appearing in the corners of her eyes and quickly wipes them away.

“Thank you,” she repeats. “For taking Petyr. For saving me.”

She knows that the Stranger didn’t kill Petyr himself. It had to be someone else, a human, not the ephemerous God. But she thanks him the same. Sansa closes her eyes and prays for the souls of the people she loved. People, who were dead because of the games Petyr was playing.

“Lady Sansa?”

She hears the voice behind her and freezes. She didn’t notice anyone else being in the sept or opening the wooden door. She doesn’t recognise the voice, but the man behind her knows her name. Her  _ real _ name. Sansa takes a deep breath and turns around.

There’s a man she never met in her live. He is tall, but not huge. His head bald. He is wearing the dark robes of the silent brother, but his cowl isn’t covering his face. And he  _ speaks _ .

“Lady Sansa,” he repeats, his expression calm. “Are you alright?”

Sansa exhales and nods. It must be the Elder Brother Petyr told her some time ago. He had to arrive to the Gates of the Moon today for her wedding, but instead he will have to take part in the burial service. What an irony.

“Everything is fine, Brother,” she says. 

“You know me?” he raises his eyebrows, fascinated.

“I was told you will arrive here for my wedding,” Sansa explains. “Unfortunately, there won’t be any wedding at all.”

The Elder Brother eyes her with an unhidden interest. Sansa sees him for the first time on her life, but somehow she feels that the man of faith in front of her knows about her almost everything. His eyes are full of knowledge, calmness, and something else. Sansa blinks. She can swear she noticed a tiny mischievous spark in the eyes of the Elder Brother.

“You don’t look like a heartbroken bride, abandoned by her betrothed,” he says with a shade of a smirk on his lips. “You weren’t really fond of the idea of marrying young Ser Harrold, were you?”

“I wasn’t,” Sansa confirms. “To be honest with you, I’m quite revived now.”

“I see,” the brother nods. “Anyway, this marriage was just another brick in the complex scheming of your late lord  _ father _ , I suppose.”

Sansa has no idea from where this man of faith learnt all those small details. It sounds so strange, but then she remembers that Petyr was asking the Elder Brother to help him with the wedding as quickly as possible. And that Petyr requested him to provide the confirmation that Lady Sansa of Winterfell was still a maiden after her joke of a marriage to Tyrion Lannister. And that the man in front of her learnt her real name from Petyr himself. The Elder Brother looked like a wise man, and if he was the one, it wouldn’t be a really big issue for him to piece together the whole picture of Petyr’s schemes.

“You’re right,” she tells him. “But Petyr Baelish wasn’t my father.”

“I know,” the old man agrees. “Your father was too honourable for scheming. That’s what I know of him for sure.”

“Have you met my father before?” Sansa wonders. It would be so nice to talk to a man who knew the late Lord Stark. She could ask him more things about her father. Things, she didn’t have a chance to ask him herself.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t,” the Elder Brother shakes his bald head. “But I’ve heard _ a lot  _ about him and his honour from one of the brothers on our isle. So, even after carefully separating the facts from the emotions of the teller, I kind of have a picture of who your lord father was. A good man. But a little bit too honourable.”

It’s a little bit strange to think that one of the men who decided to give his vows to the Seven had actually known her father. Sansa wants to hear more, but she thinks it wouldn’t be wise to do so. After all, the man of faith were renouncing all their connections with their past. The man who knew her father wouldn’t be happy enough to awake the demons of his previous life.

And then Sansa remembers the question which was at the tip of her tongue.

“But what about the silent brother who was here before your arrival?” she asks him carefully, as if fears he will suddenly appear from the darkness of the sept.

“Brother gravedigger, you mean?” the Elder Brother asks, but there’s no surprise in his voice at all. “He’s done with his service here, my lady. And he’s done with his service to the Seven.”

Sansa feels a shiver running down her spine.

“What do you mean?” she asks quietly.

“You see,” the Elder Brother waves his hand. “Brother gravedigger didn’t say any vows to the Seven. He stayed with us, helped us, redeemed himself in the eyes of the Gods. I was kind of hoping he will make a decision to stay with us in truth, but it looks like that he still longs for his previous life. Or at least for some things from it. Or, to be more precise, for some people. And I can’t blame him at all.”

“I see,” Sansa nods. Her hands shake, and Sansa prays to the Seven that the man haven’t changed his mind because of her actions. She doesn’t want to be a person who had broken someone’s life.

The thing is, she  _ is _ that person.

Her head is swimming, and Sansa rubs her forehead. 

“Are you feeling yourself well, my lady?” the Elder Brother asks her with a concern.

“Y-yes,” Sansa nods, though her movements are weak. “I think I just need some fresh air.”

“That’s alright,” the Elder Brother’s smile is a warm one. “I think you had heard too many news today. You should have some rest. Maybe a little stroll around the yard won’t hurt.”

“Maybe,” Sansa agrees, averting her eyes. Somehow she is sure that if she will look in the eyes of the man of faith, he will be able to find out how huge was her sin.

“It’s really nice outside today,” the Elder brother continues, as if speaking to himself. “I’d say, the yard and the stables are the most perfect place for a stroll.”

Sansa mumbles her thanks and runs out of the house. The weather outside is really nice for the winter day, but Sansa doesn’t pay any attention to it. She goes to the stables.

The Elder Brother had no idea what Sansa had done, but he still wants her to be able to say the farewell for the man, who was in charge of the tiny sept here for the last couple of days. Sansa goes to the stables and feels her body becoming weak. She is afraid of meeting him, she knows it. Maybe he won’t be wearing his cowl anymore. Maybe he will be able to tell her something. But he should hate her now. His gaze will be full of a disdain, and his words will be cruel, Sansa knows it. But she earned it with her ill considered decisions. She needs to hear these words before her will leave.

There’s no one around in the stables, and Sansa fears she is late. She even thinks of getting herself a free mare and going after him. She doesn’t know why, but she wants to take a look of him for the last time. No, she knows  _ why _ , but she prohibits herself to think about the real reason.

Maybe, if she will finally see the former silent brother’s face, she won’t be living in her fantasy world anymore.

She walks through the stables, searching for a proper mare, when she hears a displeased neigh, followed by the loud thump. Sansa turns around and sees the horse, who wasn’t in the local stables before. He is black as night, his mane is long and carefully brushed, and his expression is so unsatisfied with his conditions here it would be able to make Sansa laugh easily. But she doesn’t laugh. She freezes on her place and stares at the horse.

She knows this horse.

Sansa looks at the angry eyes of an animal, and the memories of the King Robert’s arrival to Winterfell floods her mind. That was where she saw this horse for the first time. That was where she saw the stallion’s master for the first time. She was afraid of him back then, of both the horse and the master, but now she can’t stop staring.

Sansa feels her body becoming weak and falls on her knees.

She doesn’t know how long she is sitting on the cold ground like this, but when she hears the heavy steps behind her, she keeps staring at the animal in front of her. The horse notices his master and neighs happily. The steps behind her stops suddenly, Sansa knows he noticed her.

There are so many things she wants to say to him. So many questions, so many accusations, so many pleas. She wants to talk to him, to scream at him, to stand up and leave without any word, to jump in his embrace and kiss him. But can’t move at all.

“Did you kill Petyr?” she whispers.

The man behind her nods, Sansa can hear the rustle of his robe.

“I did,” he adds. His voice is hoarse, and low, but it sounds for Sansa like the sweetest song in the whole word.

“And Harry - was it you who made him fear of the upcoming marriage?”

“Aye.”

His answers are short, but Sansa knows it’s because he wasn’t used for a long talks for a while. She smiles and can feel the salty feeling of the upcoming tears appearing in her throat.

“I thought you dead,” she whispers, clenching her fists.

“Many people did,” she knows he is shrugging right now.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks him and finally turns around.

Sandor Clegane looks just the same as she remembers him. The only thing she can’t find there is the hatred in his stare. His eyes are deep and calm now, and Sansa wonders if the anger faded away during his time on the Quiet Isle.

“Why?” she repeats. “You had to tell me it was you, you had to explain me what is going on. You had to  _ stop  _ me,” she almost whispers the last part, her cheeks hot and red.

“I promised the Elder Brother I will stay silent until the day of the wedding,” he sighs. Sansa looks at him and notices that he has a bag with him. He really wanted to leave not even talking to her. “And there was no way I would be able to stop you from your  _ naughty actions _ without hurting you. And I promised that I won’t allow any harm come to you.”

He talks almost like his past self, but this time his voice is free of a mockery. Sansa watches him, and feels the world around her starting to spin around.

He is not dead. Stranger didn’t take him. He killed Petyr. He made Harry to break the betrothal between them. He helped her so many times. He is not dead. He is here. He isn’t her stupid imagination.

Sansa fears for a second that he could be, but then she hears a loud neigh behind her. His horse, Stranger was his name, is eager to leave, and so is his master. Or at least was. He had prepared his horse for a journey, as well as some things. But now he doesn’t move just like Sansa.

It’s so messed up, Sansa thinks. She wants to laugh. She wants to cry. She wants to slap him, and then kiss him. She wants to tell him that now, when she carries her own burns, physical and not, she can understand what is on his soul. She wants to tell him how she was longing for him.

“Take me with you,” she says instead.

Sandor Clegane grins.

“As a man, I need to take full responsibility for everything what had happened between us, I suppose,” he jokes. There’s no mockery in his voice again, he’s just having fun.

“Aye,” Sansa answers with a similar grin. She feels the tears on her cheeks, but she doesn’t care at all.

He makes a step forward, and then Sansa finds out that she was wrong all that time. The burnt part of his lips isn’t rough and calloused at all. She smiles at this discovery and closes her eyes.

Maybe she is a sinner, but at least she won’t be burning in the Hell full of flames on her own. Or maybe she won’t be burning there at all. Sandor Clegane said he won’t allow any harm come to her and Sansa knows he meant it.

**Author's Note:**

> ugh  
> i'm sorry


End file.
